Dear Beckham
by Ingrid Mulkovich
Summary: Chapter One -- Ken's first entry...finally...[hints of RanKen]
1. Prologue

Prologue  
  
Ken glared at the crisp, cream-colored, and blank page sitting smugly on his desk. It was taunting him to let the fine tip of his Parker glide its surface.  
  
The soccer player moved, as if to scribble...something...anything...only to find himself slumping back to his chair before the pen made so much as a blot on the immaculate sheet.  
  
"This is stupid," he muttered, letting out an irritated huff. Indeed, it was absurd, if one thought about it. Further contemplation, and one may call it ironically laughable.  
  
Siberian, who could so effortlessly slash men's throats, cowers at the mockeries of a hardbound journal.  
  
In his defense, of course it must be taken into consideration that it was the first time that he had even thought about keeping a diary.  
  
He winced at the term. "Diary" sounded so...girly. It reminded him of scented paper and those little locks with their little keys. They were all the rage back in his school days, and many of the girls carried them around. Naturally, the guys would always try to "borrow" them.  
  
The brunette grinned evilly at the memory. The locks were pretty easy to open, so he had his share of reading through many of these memoirs. It was not rare that some girls gushed about the exploits of Hidaka Ken at the field. He had always been a soccer star, and the fact that he hadn't looked bad helped, too. One of his "fans" even wrote a highly graphic and explicit fantasy involving him, leather and wax...  
  
Ken just cringed at the thought. Granted, it was a very well-written piece, but those kinks didn't really sit well with him. He covered his ears, as if willing those familiar words out of his brain.  
  
"Focus, Hidaka." He had resolved to write at least one entry before the day ends. He glanced at the radio alarm clock on the bedside table. The red numbers blinked.  
  
"Six o'clock! Kuso..."  
  
He stood from his seat, rubbing his numb ass. Four hours had passed, and for what? Engaging in a staring contest with an inanimate object.  
  
He was definitely pathetic.  
  
And who would've thought that he, clumsy and klutzy Ken, of all people...could be so... anal about something this trivial.  
  
He was like...like Ran, for chrissakes!  
  
The young man blew the bangs out of his eyes, lips curling upward. When Aya- chan woke up, the Weiss leader gradually became less and less stoic. The proverbial ice façade melted a bit everyday. His smiles became more frequent. Sure, they were not the kawaii, Omi-like beams, not like those naughty smirks of Youji's, and certainly not close to Ken's goofy grins. Ran's were elegant --- they were the kinds that did not quite reach the eyes, but were undoubtedly genuine.  
  
Why would he not be happy, after all? His imouto was alive and well, she's going to school like a normal teenage girl, and they had enough money to live comfortably for the rest of their lives. But he chose to remain here, working with pansies.  
  
The other Weiss members had been baffled by this detail, although they all kept mum about it...probably fearing that he would leave because he wouldn't have any reason to stay. Ran's the type who'd do just that, and even if none of them would admit it out loud, the Abyssinian had become more than just a colleague.  
  
Besides, they had learned to love the Ran's imouto. All of them had gotten quite close to Aya-chan. She's a chatty and friendly girl.  
  
"A bit arrogant, too, I might add," Ken laughed.  
  
She often brings schoolmates to the Koneko to brag about her oniisans, who were incidentally, all bishounens. Of course, the four simply let her indulge in this habit. Youji would sometimes even give her a peck on the cheek for good measure. The other fans just looked on with both envy and admiration.  
  
The common picture brought the frustrated assassin back to the task at hand. Aya-chan had gifted him with the...journal...well, just because she wanted to.  
  
"It reminded me of you," Aya-chan had said to the surprised brunette, "Put everything into paper." And she handed him the dark green, hardback...diary. It wasn't extravagant. A simple soccer ball engraved in silver at the bottom right corner was worth some attention, though.  
  
He didn't know why he's having such a hard time, really. The process was all very simple for a motor-mouth like him. And it's not like he didn't talk with himself often. On the contrary, he would frequently be engaged in a heated debate with himself.  
  
That scared him sometimes.  
  
At long last, he clicked his silver Parker and graced the paper with a legible scrawl. His head was bowed down, shadow almost obstructing the light from the lamp save for a sliver.  
  
_/June 7, 2004/_  
  
The date's always a good starting point. What next? The brunette wasn't certainly writing down a "Dear Diary" on the next line. Puhleeaze.  
  
"Dear Journal?" The young man stuck his tongue out in distaste. Corny.  
  
He tapped the pen against the wood, creating a rhythm as he listed down names in his mind.  
  
"Dear Ken...," he rolled the words off his tongue. It would be logical to address it to himself, but he felt something bizarre about the whole notion.  
  
He wanted something akin to a listening ear. He wanted someone who could help him with his burdens, albeit in his illusions.  
  
"Dear Ran..."  
  
Siberian blushed. He quickly scrapped the thought as he consciously chuckled at himself.  
  
There were many things that he can't confide with his friends as of now, and these "friends" included Youji and Omi.  
  
He randomly picked out names, for the lack of better ideas.  
  
Aya-chan?  
  
"Too young."  
  
Momoe-san?  
  
"Too old."  
  
Kase?  
  
"Umm...no..."  
  
Farfarello.  
  
"You gotta be kidding."  
  
He needed a friend, one who had similar interests so that he could identify with him, so that he could tell him about his day and he'd listen earnestly as he rambled. He needed someone who wouldn't judge him, and who wouldn't be frightened at his lifestyle.  
  
Fat chance. Who wouldn't be terrified of a bugnuk-wielding assassin?  
  
But then again, all he needed was an epitome of a close buddy. Words of advice aren't necessary.  
  
Just someone to whom he could pour his heart out, even if he couldn't understand a word he said.  
  
And it dawned on him.  
  
Ken searched for his pen, which conveniently chose this time to disappear. Finding the mischievous Parker under piles of paper, he scrambled to his chair and carefully wrote down the two words which would begin it all.  
  
_/Dear Beckham.../_

TBC?


	2. Chapter One

Dear Beckham --- Chapter One  
  
The brown-haired boy landed on the bed with a thud. He hugged his pillow tightly, and inhaled its scent --- detergent mixed with his citrus and lemongrass shampoo.  
  
He just couldn't help but grin and feel giddy at his recent accomplishment.  
  
Strange, wasn't it? Bizarre, really. He had no idea that the task could be so...fulfilling. It was a personal achievement, to say the least.  
  
He had finally finished his first entry.  
  
Oh, the essay was not an exhibit of Siberian's angst, or Hidaka Ken's exceptional vocabulary and grammar. In fact, the first lines ought to be erased, in his opinion.  
  
The author winced as he was reminded of his idiocy, and mentally kicked himself in the head once again.  
  
Just how out-of-character could he get from this experience?  
  
The soccer player's groan was barely muffled by the pillow.  
  
He supposed that he need not pressure himself to write brilliant masterpieces. The journal was not a graded test of sorts, and certainly not for public viewing.  
  
He didn't have to please anyone. That notion, at least, made him smile.  
  
His eyes settled on the ceiling, as he lay down the bed while using his arms as a headrest. Every now and then, he absently flicked the bangs out of his eyes.  
  
The day's events may not be particularly...interesting. No murders. No mysteries. No katana-wielding-assassins.  
  
Perhaps through the readers' eyes, it was a mere narration of trivial events, of a common and mundane life.  
  
But not to its writer.  
  
As Ken looked back and reread his own words, he couldn't fight back a contented sigh.  
  
June 7, 2004  
  
Dear Beckham,  
  
Hi! This is the first time that I'm doing this, so I'm kinda nervous. I've watched your games, and I frequently visit your websites. Did you know that your name generates over 2 million results in Yahoo? Amazing! Sometimes I wonder if I could've been that popular...  
  
Know what, I'm picturing you as I write this. I have many of your posters up my wall, y'know (and your jersey, too!) I thought it may be easier that way, to imagine you as I scribble on this sheet.  
  
Come to think of it, maybe I shouldn't have told you all that. It would've creeped me out. Sorry.  
  
Anywaaaay...enough about you. I'll just tell you how my day went and then that's that. You should probably know that I've spent close to six hours just to reach this point. I'm hoping it would be easier from hereon, though. It should be! I was on the verge of my sanity, and only wayward thoughts about certain people (or person) kept me from gnawing at random things around me...  
  
...yeah, it's a weird habit.  
  
As I was saying, today wasn't totally frustrating. Well, it actually depends on how you look at it.  
  
Early morning I was off to soccer practice. I've been coaching the kids and we have a game next week.  
  
Sanako-chan punched Etsuya right beside the mouth. It was a usual occurrence, expected, in fact. But that doesn't mean I let them go easy!  
  
Those two were always arguing about one or another, and both were equally capable of proving and defending their points, no matter how trivial. Just the other day, it was the girl who received the black eye.  
  
I've got to admire their strength, though, if you may call it that. Would you believe that neither of them cried ever since? Cuts, bruises...they've endured them all without shedding a tear. They're both stubborn and determined kids.  
  
I'm 90% sure that they'd be together someday. Hehehe.  
  
I had to bring Sanako-chan home, and explain to her parents...again...what happened. They do not seem to blame me for it, although, I could sense a hint of wariness on the mother's face. Her dad seemed proud to have another fighter in the family. From the looks of it, he could very well be a professional wrestler with his Hulk-Hogan-like physique.  
  
Wouldn't want to mess with the guy...  
  
I passed by Niccole's on the way home. The jukebox was playing old mellow tunes, and customers seem to enjoy the relaxed surroundings. I considered entering the old shoppe, but something held me back. It just doesn't seem right without my usual companions.  
  
Here I go again. sigh Weirdness alert.  
  
On the days that I don't coach or have a shift at the Koneko, I run around the track field to keep in shape. Sometimes I'd play with some of the students. Yesterday was one of those days.  
  
I finished my shower in time with the dismissal bell of Aya-chan's school (which was beside the field). I busied myself with my bag, re-arranging my things unnecessarily, anything to NOT make it seem like I was waiting for somebody.  
  
As always, THEY invited me to get some ice cream at our usual place. I was once (and always) conveniently there while they walked home, who am I to decline such an offer?  
  
Aya-chan, Ran, and I have had many dates at the 1950's soda fountain --- Niccole's.  
  
Shit, my face is growing hot. Wait a sec.  
  
The brunette chuckled at himself, blushing slightly as he read. He had to make sure that this was kept in a secure place. Maybe he'd have to buy a safe tomorrow...  
  
There. I'm back. Just needed to wash up a bit...  
  
Hmm...maybe I should tell you about the first time we went there. It was, I think, three months ago? Yeah...as usual, I had soccer practice. I didn't plan it, honest. But it happened. I was just at the right place at the right time, if you believe in that cliché.  
  
Hey, it was not my fault that I was done by three! And that Ran, being the dear oniisan that he was, fetched his imouto from school. I certainly didn't ask Aya-chan to point at the newly opened shoppe and try their ice cream simply because of its quaint ambience. I definitely didn't beg to be dragged to the said parlour by the hyperactive girl.  
  
But I made Ran order the Super Bowl Sundae. Hah! I feel so proud. =P  
  
Actually, what I suggested was a Sundae Special --- four scoops of chocolate AND vanilla goodness with copious amounts of whipped cream, walnuts, chocolate syrup and topped with a cherry.  
  
The man would've ordered a mere scoop of vanilla ice cream. I gasped. I tsked and shook my head at his naïveté. He just looked totally lost, clueless, and...utterly ahem "squeezable". Ehehe...  
  
Ran asked what I wanted. I was ordering the same, of course. My mouth watered while trying to convince him, and I couldn't wait to taste what I had just described to my leader. I almost drifted to the dream of ice cream haven, when Ran's spoke in his low and smooth tone.  
  
"Why don't we order the Super Bowl Sundae instead, and just share it?"  
  
I stared at him. I wasn't sure if my jaw dropped, but I think it was pretty silent for quite a while. Then again, maybe it was just me. I had wondered if he was joking. His sense of humor was still not so familiar to me.  
  
"...technically, it's just two Sundae Specials put in a larger bowl. And we save five hundred yen."  
  
Of course.  
  
I mentally slapped my forehead. As if!  
  
But I acquiesced. Why would I argue with his reasoning and practicality?  
  
I believe we've already saved about 40,000 yen with his logic.  
  
Come to think of it, it's a wonder that we haven't gotten tired of the Super Bowl. For Ran, it's probably understandable. I mean, he'd probably stick to vanilla forever if it wasn't for me. (I'm gloating again...=P)  
  
But me? I mean, three months...normally, I would have gagged at the sight of it after a week.  
  
Hmm...wonder why? contemplates  
  
TBC...?  
  
Disclaimers: Weiss Kreuz and its characters do not belong to me. I do lay claim on the others, though. =) Etsuya, Sanako-chan and her family are mine! Mwahahahaha! Warnings: Hints of shounen-ai, specifically RanKen, some bad language. 


End file.
